Page 39 of Knife in the Back (New Orleans #4)

She stiffened, Burke’s hands lightly squeezing her shoulders.

“Because I was unjustly imprisoned?” she demanded, raising her voice enough that the other patrons could hear.

“Because I was framed for something I did not do? I’m sure you’ll understand why I’m so concerned about protecting my reputation after a negative experience like that.

Surely your bank doesn’t want to be complicit in another frame. Do you?”

“Of course not,” the bank manager blustered. “We’re a reputable financial institution.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Naomi said coldly. “So do your damn job. Sir.”

“I’m going to need to call the police into this,” the manager cautioned.

“By all means. I hope you’ll be able to explain to them how this happened?

Your colleague here”—she gestured to the banker, who was looking more uncomfortable by the moment—“said the name on the ID used to open this account was mine, but the photo was not. She said she couldn’t show me the photo.

I suspect that’s not true, that she simply didn’t want to.

But you will show the police that photo and then we will hopefully get to the bottom of this. ”

She hoped Antoine had seen the woman’s monitor. She did not want to leave the bank without a solid lead.

The manager frowned down at the banker. “You wouldn’t show her?”

The banker blinked, at a momentary loss for words. “But…”

The manager skewered Naomi with a glare. Or he tried to, anyway. He was behind the eight ball and Naomi held the reins.

She liked this feeling of power.

“Why do you want to see the photo, Miss Cranston?” the manager asked.

“So I know who to blame,” Naomi said, as if this man was stupid. Because he was. “I’m sure that’s not terribly difficult to understand.”

The manager’s cheeks darkened. He knew when he was being insulted.

Good.

“Do you think you know this individual?” he asked. “The one who fraudulently opened this account?”

“Maybe, maybe not. But I do know that my ex-husband is a devious man and our divorce was messy after he cheated on me with a nineteen-year-old bimbo. It’s entirely possible that he is behind this.

Maybe he’s hiding assets from the new wife, in case he leaves her for a younger woman.

I know you wouldn’t want to be an accessory to anything like that. Would you?”

Oh. Her thoughts skittered when Burke began massaging her stiff shoulders.

The man had very nice hands. Which she’d think about later.

Because the bank manager’s expression had become cagey. “Maybe you can help us get to the bottom of this.” Abruptly, he turned the screen so that she could see it. “Do you know the woman in this photo?”

At first glance, Naomi thought it was her own photo.

The woman had black hair, just like Naomi’s.

But, with closer study, the differences became clear and it was all Naomi could do to keep her fury in check.

Her mind was thrown back to that night six years before when she’d stopped to help a young woman broken down on the side of the road.

“Yes, I do. Her name is Winnifred Timms.”

—

The Central Business District, New Orleans, Louisiana

Tuesday, February 25, 5:15 p.m.

A brisk knock on his office door had him lifting his gaze from the numbers he’d been running. If this week went as anticipated, he’d make enough of a profit to meet all his financial obligations and still have cash left over.

“Come in.”

Wayne Stanley entered, his expression tense. “I thought you told Gaffney to have Freddie close down the Cranston bank accounts.”

Fury geysered within him. Fucking hell. Both Gaffney and Winnifred had much to answer for. “I did.”

“Well, I just got alerts from all three accounts saying they’d been frozen. We’ve lost half a million dollars.”

“Broussard,” he muttered.

“I assume so.”

“Where is Gaffney?”

“At the warehouse,” Stanley said with a sneer. “Probably helping himself to the inventory again.”

“Again?” His hands clenched into fists. “He’s been having sex with them?”

“He has. I told him to stop and he told me to mind my business and do my job.”

“You should have told me.”

“I just did. But you can deal with him later. Freddie just used her credit card for a one-way flight to Quito.”

“Ecuador,” he said grimly. Because they had no extradition treaty with the United States. “She can’t be allowed to leave.”

“You want me to take care of her?”

Stanley wasn’t a sharpshooter, but he was damn close. “Yes. And then find out how she knew to run.”

“I already did. I accessed one of the street cams facing the bank. It seems like it was a fluke, that she just happened to go to the bank when Cranston was there.”

“So we lost five hundred grand because she waited an entire day to follow instructions?”

“Pretty much. Are we at plan Z yet?”

“Not yet.” Killing Broussard was a last resort that he wasn’t ready to execute. The man had friends in the NOPD who wouldn’t rest until his murder was solved.

Freddie Timms, on the other hand, was expendable. Which was one of the reasons he’d chosen her. That she looked like Naomi Cranston was another reason, but Freddie hadn’t understood that. She thought she was important to him, that her behavior would be excused.

“Take care of Freddie and then we’ll discuss next steps.”

Stanley gave him a salute before going to do his bidding.

He called Gaffney, grimacing when the man seemed out of breath when he answered. “You said that you told Winnifred to close those accounts.”

“I did! Are you saying that she didn’t?”

He could hear a slight whimper and wanted to strangle Gaffney with his own two hands. You didn’t use your own drugs and you didn’t fuck your own whores. It was the most common-sense rule.

“She did not,” he said evenly. “And now those accounts are frozen.”

“Broussard,” Gaffney spat. “Tell Stanley to kill him. He’s wanted to for years.”

It wasn’t that easy. “We’ve had this conversation, Detective.”

“I know, I know. It’ll bring down the wrath of André Holmes. I have a shift to get to, so I need to go.”

Gaffney was a weasel and a coward, but he was still useful in his detective role. “Fine. This way you’ll have an alibi in case anyone accuses you of killing Freddie.” He ended the call.

He didn’t care about Freddie, who’d only been a nice distraction over the years. However, if he lost any more people, he’d have to borrow a few more from Ortiz to manage the warehouse and its occupants.

He’d try nearly anything else before he did that. He didn’t want to give the gang leader any more of a toehold in his organization.

This was all because of Broussard. Plan Z was looking better every day.